


Predictably Unpredictable

by MaskoftheRay



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Boys In Love, Bruce is also very soft, Bruce is dumb because he doesn't call his boyfriend after being sex-pollened, But consensual, Clark is soft, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Fic (in this genre) Privileges, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, He won't make that mistake again, M/M, POV Bruce Wayne, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Clark Kent, Really soft ending, Sex Pollen, Sleepy Boys, Sweet, Teasing, There is barely any plot here lol, This is my first time writing smut so take that as you will, good I hope, what have I done?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 19:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21343609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Bruce and Clark have been dating for two months. Things are going well... until, one day, Bruce gets hit by sex pollen, or some kind of new lust formula that Ivy’s developed. And he gets worried about it having bad effects on Clark. So instead of doing the rational thing, and calling Superman for some, er,assistanceBruce tries to work through it.Clark, of course, has somethoughtsabout this.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 391
Collections: DC Universe





	Predictably Unpredictable

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I... I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING HERE 🙈. This is the first smut fic I’ve ever written (though I’ve read some before, lol), so I just kinda threw things at the metaphorical wall and hoped they stuck? 
> 
> I mean, I _think_ it turned out good? I wrote this because I was curious to see if I could do it. Anyway, just wanted to let you know. If this is terrible, that’s why *shrugs.* Hope you like it anyway.

The thing about nature is that it is unpredictable.

Batman can deal with unpredictable. So can Bruce; he spends a lot of his time as the _highly _unpredictable ‘Brucie Wayne,’ after all. But what’s almost worse, in some ways, is when things are predictably unpredictable— such as Poison Ivy. Poison Ivy, and her frequent tinkering with her various plant-based toxin formulae. This is something Bruce privately grumbles about as he ties her up, grabs samples of her many on-going (and thankfully interrupted) science experiments, reports her location to the GCPD, and drives home.

He’s in the cave when he notices the _predictably unpredictable_.

The first slightly-off thing he feels is a warmth throughout his body— not entirely unusual since it’s mid-Spring, and even Gotham tends to warm up around now. _Maybe it’s time to break out the Summer suit_, Bruce thinks, slightly puzzled. He removes the cowl and turns back to his report.

But half an hour later, the heat’s still not dissipated from his body, and now his pulse feels elevated, as if he’s drunk too much caffeine, and the screen is blurring slightly. Bruce tries to swallow, and finds that his mouth is dry. And his dick is incredibly _hard_. So hard that the Batsuit’s cup is becoming quite painful. Oh. So Ivy’s changed her lust formula then. Wonderful.

However, either the new formula isn’t complete yet (which makes Bruce even more grateful he’d apprehended Ivy _now_) or he’s still got partial immunity to it (a happy, if unlikely, thought). Whatever the case, though his… _condition_ is uncomfortable, Batman still has work to do. His discomfort can be ignored— at least until he’s finished logging evidence and writing the report; it’s vital that Batman have an accurate record to look back on later, when he’s doing the lab work for the antidote (which Bruce _clearly _needs to make. _Jesus. He regrets ever adding a cup to the suit_).

“Goddamnit,” Bruce grumbles. He closes his eyes briefly to try and reset his distorted vision (caused by his chemically-blown pupils), and rubs a hand (ungauntleted) over his eyes. The skin-to-skin contact feels _good_, even if it’s just his own hand, and a shivering buzz flows south, through Bruce’s nerve endings and down his spine. His left hand twitches across the desk for a moment— _no_.

The cave is for work, and work _only_.

Bruce bites his cheek, and the sharp burst of pain distracts him long enough from his _situation_ for him to regain his ability to concentrate.

**~*~*~*~*~**

Bruce, in his determination to ignore his problem, which is _very _distracting, loses track of time. So it’s both surprising and not-so surprising when Clark shows up.

“Hey,” his boyfriend of two months says fondly. “What are you still doing down here?”

“Logging evidence,” Bruce answers shortly. _If he doesn’t turn around, he **can **just ignore what Clark’s presence is doing to him_.

“Ah,” Clark says, stepping forward. Bruce closes his eyes, and takes several deep breaths in. _Clark’s never seen the effects of Ivy’s toxins_, he reminds himself. God forbid Clark learn about some of Bruce’s… _more unusual _sexual proclivities in this way. “Who’re you dealing with?”

Bruce swallows, or tries to; it feels like his tongue’s taking up half his mouth; he finds that he wishes it was _something else_ doing this. “Ivy,” he responds reluctantly. “She was trying to set up a new hide-out, I think.”

“Mm,” Clark <strike>moans</strike> replies.

He’s now standing in Bruce’s peripheral. And he’s still wearing the suit— giving Batman a full view of the man of steel’s— well, _steel_ package. Oh, god, Bruce had forgotten how this felt under Ivy’s influence. _He needs to get out of the suit before anything **embarrassing **happens_. Bruce blinks, and tries to refocus his attention. Clark, unfortunately, is still here, being quite distracting.

“It’s a good thing you’re immune to Ivy these days, right?” Superman asks.

Bruce remains silent, too distracted by his desperate attempt to corral his Pavlovian arousal from the other man. At his (telling) silence, Clark frowns, and steps closer to the computer chair. “You _do_ have immunity to Ivy’s toxins, right?” Bruce is silent again.

_I did_, he thinks ruefully, through another painful spike of arousal, _but then she went and updated her pheromones_. Clark’s nostrils widen and his brow furrows. Bruce wants to slap himself, or perhaps bash his head against the desk— because _of fucking course_. He’s forgotten that, among Clark’s many other powers, is his sense of super-smell. Despite himself, Bruce can only think of how hot Superman is right now in the suit, looking slightly concerned (about _Batman_) and severe.

The cave is filled with a painful silence. Bruce can only think about what _Clark _must be hearing in Bruce’s bodily responses— his dignity may never recover. He can feel his face flushing, for more than one reason, this time. Clark’s gaze narrows again, and that just makes _everything _worse.

“Please tell me you haven’t been sitting here, suffering,” Clark demands.

Bruce swallows again, and tries to calm his rapid pulse, as Clark steps nearer. “‘_Suffering’_ is a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?” he deadpans; arousal— _unsolved_ arousal— despite what his trapped cock is currently telling him, is not actually ‘suffering.’ Or that’s what Bruce would usually think. If his brain were not preoccupied with fanciful ideas of lunging at Clark and fucking him against the desk.

Superman’s gaze narrows again— damnit, he’s seen what that’s doing to Bruce at the moment, then. “Clark,” Bruce hisses. He honestly can’t tell if the statement comes out more chastising or encouraging. Fuck.

Clark smiles evilly. “I beg to differ... let me, ah, _help_ _you_.” He licks his lips, and Bruce goes breathless for a long moment as his brain shorts out. Damn him. Clark smirks.

“You… don’t have to,” Bruce protests weakly. But it’s a tempting offer. Even if the idea of a sex-pollened Superman is somewhat sobering. _He really shouldn’t_.

Clark floats off the ground and languidly approaches Bruce. Though considering where he was standing earlier, he doesn’t have far to go. It still manages to drive Bruce crazy. “Oh, I know,” Superman agrees easily, “but I _want_ to.”

He runs a hot hand— or is that just _Bruce_—along Bruce’s jaw, and… and just… _goddamn_. “Hhn,” Bruce’s exhale is sharp. His eyelids flutter for a moment. “F-fine,” he relents. Clark’s replying, mirthful look nearly does Bruce in then and there.

**~*~*~*~*~**

Bruce blinks, seeing that they’re suddenly in the master bedroom. Ordinarily he’d make a fuss about the super-speed _and _the fact that he’s still mostly in the suit, but… he just can’t find the brainpower to give a fuck. Clark closes the door gently behind him, and, still floating, turns to Bruce. His expression is slightly curious, and slightly amused. “Nothing _bad _is gonna happen if… if we do this, right?” Clark asks.

The question is a valid one, and if Bruce were thinking more clearly, he’d appreciate the fact that Superman is actually fucking using his _brain _for once. But he’s too aroused (his dick is going to _murder_ him if he keeps it in the cup any longer) to care. “No,” Bruce forces himself to reply, “N-no. I… might not be… the most _reciprocative_, though.”

Clark sets down on the ground in front of Bruce. He nods. “That’s what I thought. Changes my _plans _a bit, but that’s fine.” It takes most of Bruce’s willpower to keep from asking, ‘what plans?’ He’s horny, not _desperate_. His boyfriend’s responding smile (as if he _hears_ this unasked question anyway) makes Bruce shiver.

**~*~*~*~*~**

Removing the Batsuit has never been as long a process as Clark seems intent on making it. _He’s teasing_, Bruce observes. His gaze narrows pointedly. “Goddamnit, Clark. I— I am not in the mood for this.”

Clark merely chuckles, from where he’s crouched at Bruce’s feet, removing a boot. “Your wish,” he replies. And suddenly— Bruce is _naked_ (or nearly, he’s still got his boxers on), and is bouncing on the bed, because Clark _dropped _him there. He shivers in the cool air, and pretends it's caused by the abrupt temperature difference. It’s only then that he notices that all the bedcoverings, save the sheets and pillows, have been tossed aside.

Just when Bruce is getting impatient again, Clark returns, holding the bottle of lube and a hand towel… but no condoms. Bruce frowns. They do sometimes have sex sans condom (they’re both infection-free, so it’s not a problem), but it’s so _messy _that Bruce often prefers the convenience. Clark pauses a foot away from the bed, and just— he just _caresses _Bruce with his gaze, and it… Bruce shudders.

Clark frowns slightly, and murmurs, “Are you sure—”

“Goddamnit, Clark, yes. I— _fuck_. At this point, if you don’t, I- I’ll have to,” Bruce pants. He appreciates the concern, he really does, but not right now. Clark nods, sets the lube and hand towel on the bedside table, and starts to remove his shoes.

**~*~*~*~*~**

When the bed dips beside Bruce, he frowns. “Why are your clothes still on?” he asks, slightly puzzled, more _concerned_. He’s feeling better without the suit on but… something still needs to give, so to speak, before his body can reset itself.

Clark hums. “Turn on your side,” he requests. Bruce frowns, but complies. All his concerns are forgotten when Clark’s warm weight settles behind him, and Superman’s arms wrap around Bruce’s torso. Most of his mind goes when Clark’s smooth, warm hands begin working his boxers down his hips.

**~*~*~*~*~**

“Nnngh.” Bruce’s fists clench involuntarily in the sheets. He purses his lips to keep from making more embarrassing noises.

Clark chuckles behind him. “Gosh, I’ve barely even started yet.” Bruce would offer a retort, or pointed comment (Clark is one to talk about _quick responses_), but then Clark’s lubed thumb gently brushes over the head of his cock, pausing atop the slit, and… _it just feels so good_. Clark repeats the motion and Bruce shudders. “Let me hear you, Bruce.”

Bruce gasps, as Clark’s hand suddenly changes position, and starts to run along his length. “Cl-_ark_. Gah. I— I want…”

“Yeah, Bruce? What do you want?”

“Y-you.”

A laugh. “You’ve got me.” Bruce distantly hears the sound of lube being squirted, and then, Clark’s steady, smooth hand is back, stroking him. Bruce’s body jerks backwards, and meets the warm wall that is his boyfriend. Clark’s free arm squeezes more securely around Bruce’s waist. “Like that?” he asks.

“Y-yes,” Bruce gasps. “Mmmmmm.” He shudders again— not going to last much longer like this. Clark stops, and Bruce lets out an absolutely _mortifying _whine. Damn Ivy. Clark plants a kiss against the back of his head, and then brings his _other _hand around to fondle Bruce’s balls.

“Ghhhnnnnn.”

Clark’s right hand circles the head of Bruce’s dick again, and his thumb rubs over it gently. Then it’s sliding slickly along the length of Bruce’s cock, with more devastating firmness, and an absolutely _brutal _consistency. “A-_aha_,” Bruce groans. He feels as if his entire body’s on fire.

Clark’s relentless motion increases speed, and it— it’s _too much_. “Gahhhhhhhh! _Clark_.” Bruce shudders as his cock pulses steadily for what feels like an eon. When his orgasm is over, he flops limply back against Clark’s chest, panting.

**~*~*~*~*~**

After a long moment, Clark plants a kiss in his hair. Bruce blinks sleepily. He angles his head back as best he can. “Feeling better?” Clark asks earnestly. Bruce smiles, heart thumping brightly for a moment. Damnit— he’s not usually this sappy.

“Yes,” he admits reluctantly. Bruce tries to turn over, or pull away, but Clark’s hold on him is iron. Bruce huffs, but allows it. For now. “Give me a minute, and I’ll return the favor,” he murmurs. Clark’s following laugh rumbles through Bruce’s torso, and makes his still-sensitive cock twitch.

“No,” Clark replies softly, “no, you don’t need to. It was my _pleasure_.” He plants another kiss on the back of Bruce’s head, and then says, “go shower. I’ll get this cleaned up.”

Bruce opens his mouth to argue— it really isn’t fair to make Clark do all the work _and _clean up— but a yawn escapes him. “Fine,” he grumbles.

**~*~*~*~*~**

When Bruce stumbles out of the shower— god, he’s forgotten what the come-down from Ivy’s shit is like— Clark has the blankets and fresh sheets on the bed, which he’s lying in. The covers on Bruce’s side are turned down and there’s a pair of fresh boxers on his pillow. Despite himself, something in Bruce’s chest melts at the care behind the small gesture. _What did he ever do to deserve Clark? _

He hangs the towel over the closet door and pads, naked, back to the bed. Somewhat awkwardly, Bruce pulls the boxers on and slides under the covers, blinking. Clark, who’s been watching Bruce’s actions with a contented smile, pounces the moment Bruce is fully in bed.

He slides across the empty space, and wraps an arm around Bruce’s torso— a shadow of his earlier actions— and pulls him close. Bruce grumbles softly, but Clark just shushes him: “Go to sleep.” He brings his other hand up, to start stroking Bruce’s hair, and Bruce, sated and tired, lets his eyelids close, and enjoys it.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I _kinda_ went overboard on the fluff at the end :). I was already indulging myself by trying to write something new, so I figured, ‘why not?’ It’s not like I write that much fluff anyway.


End file.
